No handlebars
by Peppermink
Summary: She used to be a junker, and they used to be in love. But hey, things change, people get messed up, and she's SURE he'll take her back. Someday. She'll make sure of it. Anyway, it's his fault she's like this. Junkrat/OC is only ship, M for possible smut/violence. Not sure if it'll need that though, so i'll make sure to warn you in the author notes if that's in a chapter.


Author note:

Hey there! This is my first fanfiction, and I plan on keeping it going for quite a while. The plot is actually all finished, it's just a matter of getting around to writing it, so if you decide to start reading, you'll be happy to know that I do in fact plan on finishing this story and it's gonna be an ongoing thing.

It's OC x Junkrat, but don't expect just a lighthearted, fluffy ship, it's gonna have a real story to it, and i'm really hoping that people will enjoy my writing and relate to the characters, both the existing ones from Overwatch and the one i've created just for this :)

While I do have reference sheets and the such for Lavendar (her name is deliberately mispelled by the way!), they aren't spoiler free, since they're based on her appearance after a certain event that's gonna happen quite a bit later (chapter 10 or so, i'd say).

 **Chapter 1**

 **Meeting**

The searing heat of the Australian sun was something the young Brit probably would never get used to, no matter how many years she'd lived here. Even without the radiation, the heat alone was enough to drive someone insane. Lavendar could now say, with all certaincy, that she knew what it felt like to be a french fry.

Moodily, the redhead adjusted her makeshift sunvisor and headed out from the shade of the old gas station she lived in. It had been hard work surviving since the omnic crisis, especially alone, but Lavendar was cutthroat enough to make her way. She probably could have found allies here, but generally she preferred to just swindle people out of their own earnings, so by this point, she wasn't exactly what you could call 'popular' with the other junkers.

Today, she needed to go outside, no matter how hot it got, since her supply of necessities was running low and she'd long ran out of things to barter with, purely due to her own laziness. She ran a hand through her auburn bangs, and adjusted the shoulder strap her trusty axe hung from, running her hands along the taut leather, comforted by the huge weapon it held. Lavendar wasn't afraid of the other Junkers alone, but she had more than enough enemies in this world to know that if they decided to gang up, she'd probably need the axe for more than chopping up clunkers. She hoped it would only serve that one purpose today, though.

Her eyes glittered when she noticed a glimmer of metal sticking out of a sand dune, hands skittering to the handle of her axe. This clunker would keep her going for a week, and then some, if need be. Admiring the craftmanship of the thing, Lavendar soon set to work, neatly dislocating hunks of metal with every swing of her axe. She'd always been pretty indifferent to omnics, admiring them, yet understanding the dangers of them and the implications of the war the world was so tightly embroiled in. The other junkers had much more hatred for them, however, which was understandable considering the effects the omnic crisis had brought to this nation. Once beautiful lands were now nothing but desert wastelands, the effects of radiation still seeping into those who had survived. Lavendar herself had only been here a short while when the crisis wiped out the landscape of Australia, killing her family and leaving the then-teenager to fend for herself. She'd realised pretty quick that no help was coming, and she'd have to adapt to this new world alone.

 _To be fair,_ she mused, _I have made quite the junker of myself._

Only last week, she'd taken on a group of 10 other junkers, a girl gang, who had a sizeable amount of loot with them. Smaller and more lithe than they were, the scrappier girl had come out victorious over the larger group, securing her future for one more week. That was just how she lived. Day by Day, Week by Week, Year by Year. Maybe things would change one day, but she doubted it. Hoisting the bag of metallic parts up onto her back, she sighed to herself, and set off to find someone to exchange the merch with.

On the way, however, she noticed a commotion happening near an abandoned shack, the kind of place junkers would normally claim as a base, but this certainly wasnt the work of your normal junkers. There are way less craters when it's just normal junkers. Of course, this particular young girl was not one for cowardice, and this could certainly be defined as a "risky situation". This piqued her curiosity, and Lavendar threw her bag of loot into a crater while racing to the building, before scrabbling up the wall to an open window and peering in, just in time for the explosion.

" **fuck!** " she yelled, being thrown through the air like a limp ragdoll. She braced herself for impact, landing harshly in the sand. It took her a few minutes to recover from the fall, but when she did, she cursed her lack of foresight.

 _Two junkers, both male._

One of the two was a giant of a man, a crudely stitched mask covering his face. It resembled a pigs face, which was a detail she made sure to note. The other was tall, but skinny, a stray flame from the explosion flickering in his blonde hair. Also, he was carrying _her_ bag of loot. Lavendar leapt into action, racing towards the bike they were seated on, throwing up sand with her bare feet, her long braids swinging around her like long whips.

"Oi, That's my loot, ya fuckwits, i'd put it down if you know what's best for ya!" She called to them, a firm grip on her axe handle. She was not gonna let her work go so easy, she needed that to eat this week!

"Finders' Keepers', Sheila! Tough shit if ya can't keep an eye on yer own stuff! Catch ya later, Handlebars!" The lanky man shouted over his shoulder, as his large friend revved up the bike and they sped forwards.

 _I see, so_ _ **that's**_ _how you want to play it. Fine then, the game's on._

A grin crept to her lips, and she turned on her heel, about to leave to go grab her old Harley and get onto their tails.

But first thing's first.

" **MY NAME AIN'T HANDLEBARS, IT'S LAVENDAR, AND YER'D BE GOOD T' REMEMBER THAT."**

Those junkers had not seen the last of Lavendar.


End file.
